Unbound
by MrsJoyceChivers
Summary: Violet and Isobel take a trip to the seashore.


Violet Crawley was not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Although her general stern demeanour suggested a disapproving frown at sleeping beyond the reasonable time, the truth was quite the opposite. Violet Crawley enjoyed a late morning – it was to her eternal chagrin that she never got a chance to savour one.

And now here she was again, denied the chance of a rare morning to sleep beyond 8am, thanks to Isobel and whatever godforsaken creature was apparently tap-dancing on the roof of the cottage which she currently occupied. The cottage… which she felt inclined to say was too good a name for her present lodging, had been Isobel's idea; a chance to escape any curious eyes and ears at Downton, be they family or servant. The lack of the latter had pained Violet greatly, but she had been comforted by Isobel's insistence that the lack of others would provide them both with a rare opportunity to indulge in the comfort of their bed for longer than was appropriate. It was therefore bloody typical, Violet thought, that Isobel should still somehow be sleeping through the infernal noise, while she was wide awake – partaking in none of the perks that Isobel had so insistently promised.

Resigned, Violet found herself studying the room she was in; the white walls, bed linens, curtains, and the early morning sun seemed to bathe the room in a bleaching, almost ethereal whiteness, which was such a sharp contrast to the warm neutral palette of her own bedroom. Despite the apparent state of the cottage, which she had classified as "dilapidated" - although Isobel insisted on the more romantic, fanciful, and therefore wholly inaccurate "rustic" – the room and the white light it was bathed in reminded her of newly laundered sheets, or that clean crispness that comes with the first, untouched snow.

After a while, the creature on the roof, a seagull, she assumed, had finally taken leave, but the brightness of the room, and now the unmasked sound of the sea crashing outside made sleep elusive, so she gingerly eased out of bed. It was only at this point, as the sheets slipped from her body, that she remembered her state of undress – and she blushed. The warmth seeming to ease over her body – from cheeks to chest, to breasts, to belly, as she realised that she was naked. In truth Violet couldn't recall the last time she had woken in that state – presumably sometime when married to Patrick – but the presence of servants had always made her feel required to slip into a nightgown after they'd made love. Now here she was, naked as the day she was born, in some cottage god knows where, with Isobel Crawley sound asleep in the bed they had shared – she too sans clothes. The night before, after they'd made love, Isobel had insisted – she was always insisting – that Violet forgo slipping into a nightgown – assuring her that no one was around to find them in the morning. At the time Violet had been too irked by the lack of servants to see any advantage to such a situation, but this morning, in this room of gleaming whiteness, she found herself both strangely amused and slightly aroused to find herself still naked after the night before.

Easing away from the rumpled bed, Violet found her blush rising more profusely – the evidence of what she'd gotten up to the night before now even more apparent to her; the subtle scent of arousal now discernible in the air, as she eased the sheets and coverlet away, and the lingering moisture that now made its presence known between her legs. Images of the evening previous came rushing back to her, much like the sea rushing to the shore outside; Isobel's kisses, the sensation of her hands as she had taken off Violet's clothes, the touch of her lips as she kissed her way down Violet's body, playing her like the most skilled and talented musician with an intimate knowledge of every inch of their instrument. That Isobel knew Violet so well was both profoundly unsettling and thrilling in equal measure. For one second she let her mind dwell on the memory of Elizabeth Chatto; had Elizabeth ever known her to this extent? At the time she had been Violet's world, her seducer and guide, and Violet had let herself be carried away be this woman, this seemingly otherworldly beautiful creature who had taken her to bed, and shown her ways she never knew possible for her body to feel. Looking at Isobel, still sound asleep, the tiniest hint of a snore in her breathing, Violet found that she could only conclude no – for all the wonder Elizabeth had brought into her life (and all the heartbreak), the truth was that Isobel, the middle-class interloper and insufferable do-gooder, with the still irritating knack for agenda pushing, had in fact eclipsed Elizabeth from her life. The thought caused Violet to smile, for it somehow seemed utterly typical of Isobel Crawley to succeed like this – Elizabeth had been glamorous and keen to impress with her wealth and knowledge, and yet it seemed so perfectly apt that Isobel, steadfast middle-class Isobel, should be the one to do so – like the sea eroding away at the rocks outside, it had been the slow pace of Isobel, her steadfast presence in Violet's life and her refusal to be anything other than true to herself, that had ultimately captured Violet's heart. For she did indeed love Isobel, pain in the backside that she still was – and although she doubted she could ever say it to her, the truth was no less true for it.

A loud crash of the sea against the shore broke Violet's reverie – and after putting on her robe and reaching for her cane, she began to make her way through the cottage. In the harsh light of the early morning, the cottage didn't look nearly as run down as it had seemed upon their arrival the night before. While it was still by no means up to her standard, it did have a certain charm. The bleached whiteness of the interior making it feel, if not entirely homely, and certainly not plush, then at least fresh and untouched. Were she and Isobel the first to stay here? She wondered. Following the sound of the sea, she gently padded along the hallway to the door – before opening it and peeking outside. She recalled how Isobel had enthused about how the cottage was on the beach and how they could walk outside and have the shore right in front of them. . At the time she hadn't seen much to warrant Isobel's enthusiasm for such a location, after all, who wants all that sand about them, but standing in the door way, the sea in front of her and an empty beach for miles, she found herself overwhelmed by the sheer unspoilt beauty of it all. Isobel's enthusiasm might well have been warranted after all, although Violet remained undecided as to whether she should admit this.

If asked why she did what she did next, Violet Crawley would no doubt deny that it had even happened, and probably fix the questioner with such a glare that they'd never move again; nonetheless, on that windswept, sunny morning, she _had_ eased away from the cottage doorway and made her way slowly towards the sand, her cane seemingly forgotten by the doorway, as she gently inched her feet along the sand – quietly drinking in the sensation of the fine grain under her feet. It was as if something was drawing her forward, with the breeze catching her long hair, caressing and drawing it out on the air, as she gingerly moved down the small path to the shoreline. Coming to a stop, Violet took a moment to simply breathe in the air and bask in the morning sunshine. Was this what freedom felt like? The constraints of her tightly structured clothes gone, her hair down and loose in the wind, and the assurance from Isobel that they were the only souls around for miles... It was a heady feeling, to stand on the beach and simply exist with no expectations – and she wanted more. Without thinking, she gently undid the tie of her robe, and closing her eyes, parted it – gasping in wonder as the cool breeze suddenly made contact with her skin – the tendrils of air caressing around her naked form, dancing over her nipples and the delicate flesh between her legs, and she felt overwhelmed.. She had often thought she would be embarrassed at baring her body like this, but in that moment all she could feel was sensation and the most glorious sense of abandon – all those years of wearing corsets and fulfilling expectations slipping away, as Violet the woman reasserted herself, and Downton faded into temporary oblivion.

Unseen by Violet, Isobel stood in the doorway, quietly observing, a warm smile on her lips. She knew well enough not to interrupt this moment – and so she simply stood and watched – drinking in the sight of her lover as the breeze gently swept around her now semi-nude form – her robe and hair blowing around her, making Violet look like a goddess. Moments later, Isobel closed the door slowly and went to the small kitchen. Goddess or not, Violet would be looking for her tea.


End file.
